


Getting with the Program

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Foxtrot [126]
Category: Dollhouse, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 22:41:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11519001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: An offshot of the main Foxtrot storyline, post-Civil War AU, wherein Bucky is "cured" of Hydra's programming with Dollhouse technology.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Marvel Cinematic Universe, Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes, first kiss post-Winter Soldier/Civil War."

"I don't like this," Steve murmured.  
  
"It was the best solution we had." Clint squeezed his shoulder. He nodded at T'challa, who nodded at the team of beautiful young women and men in white lab coats.  
  
One of them tapped rapidly on her tablet, and the stasis chamber hissed open. Steve flinched at the icy air that flooded out.  
  
The woman tapped at her tablet some more, and the chair Bucky was strapped into levered upward, and the straps retracted. Blue light flared, formed an unholy halo around Bucky's head.  
  
But he opened his eyes. And he blinked. "Did I fall asleep?"  
  
"Only for a little while," the woman said.  
  
Bucky blinked some more, scanning his surroundings. His gaze fell on Steve.  
  
"Hey," he said, and rose up.  
  
Before Steve could ask if he was all right, if he felt okay, Bucky was across the room and capturing Steve in a kiss, and Steve hesitated for only a fraction before he surrendered, because whatever Echo and Priya and their other friends had done to Bucky, he was back, and he was safe - from himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Marvel, Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes, Too Close Too Touch."

Steve was grateful Bucky was awake, couldn’t begin to fathom what strings Clint had pulled to get these former Dollhouse personnel in to help Bucky. But Bucky hadn’t taken the explanation of what was done to him very well. Given that Bucky had exploded into furious Russian when one of T’challa’s doctors got to the part about imprints and then went abruptly silent, eyes wide with horror, Steve was afraid that something had gone wrong. Echo, Priya, and Anthony were still in Wakanda, had asked T’challa’s staff to call them if they had any questions, but Bucky had fled for his room and barricaded himself inside and no amount of cajoling on anyone’s part would get him to come out.

Eventually T’challa’s doctors gave in and called Echo, Priya, and Anthony for help. They returned to the medical facility, armed with datapads and scans of Bucky’s brain after they’d put him in the imprint chair. 

“Everything checks out,” Anthony insisted, in that weird, high-pitched, fast-paced cadence he got when he was in neuroscience mode. “Based on what data you gave us from the Hydra programming system and what we managed to clean up, he is officially de-programmed.”

“Well, he’s locked in his room and not coming out,” Clint said, “and he started speaking Russian uncontrollably. So he’s not fine.”

Echo fixed Clint and Steve with a dark look. “Of course he’s not fine. We de-programmed him, we didn’t fix him.”

“Can you fix him?” Steve asked.

“It’s not that simple,” Priya said. “We can’t just handwave years of programming, torture, and mind control. There are ways to smooth it over, but it’s artificial. James is de-programmed, and he can heal, but it’ll be a long road.”

Steve studied her. “How do we help him?” 

“Help him understand that it’s not his fault,” Echo said. “That none of it is.”

Steve nodded. “All right.”

“There’s someone else we can call,” Anthony said. “Someone who can talk to him, if you like.”

“I’d like that. Please, call.”

Anthony, Priya, and Echo went off into a corner into a huddle to call their friend or acquaintance or colleague or whoever, and Steve went to Bucky’s room. 

He knocked, but there was no answer. The door was sealed tight, so Steve couldn’t tell if there were lights on inside, if Bucky was still awake. If Bucky was even there. Although he was pretty sure someone would have notified him and Clint and the doctors if Bucky had so much as poked his nose out of the room. He had to be getting hungry and thirsty.

Well, no, he didn’t have to be, what with the super soldier serum and all.

“Buck? Are you there?”

No answer.

Steve knocked again. “You don’t have to come out, and you don’t have to let me in. Do you need anything? Food? Water?”

There had been that first moment, that waking up, that kiss, and Bucky was back, Bucky was whole, Bucky was everything Hydra had stripped away from, this was the closest Bucky and Steve had been to  _ Bucky-and-Steve _ from before the War, before the serum and everything else. 

So close, and yet so far.

So close. Too close. Too close to touch. There was too much between them, too much going on in Bucky’s head, but Steve was willing to accept all of it, love all of him -

“You must be Steve.”

Steve turned.

He recognized, only vaguely, the man striding toward him - older, with spiky dark hair, dark jeans and a button-down shirt and a jacket, aviator shades tucked into his collar.

“Who are you?”

“John Sheppard, although a lot of people still call me Foxtrot.”

“You were with the Dollhouse.” Steve turned to him more fully. “You got here fast. Were you in the area?”

“Ah, no. Asgard beaming tech. Pays to have friends in high places.” John was certainly handsome enough to have been a Dollhouse active.

It took Steve a moment to parse the reference. “You’re with the Stargate Program.”

“Yes. Echo said your friend was upset, that he was just scrubbed from Soviet neuro-programming and he’s having a hard time.” John hooked one thumb on the edge of a hip pocket.

“Yeah. We were arguing and he just started speaking Russian and then he freaked out.”

John nodded knowingly. “Even if the programming is gone, the skills remain. The first time you access skills you didn’t have before the programming can be unsettling, to say the least. Think he’ll talk to me?”

“He won’t talk to me, and he’s known me since we were kids,” Steve said.

“Sometimes an outside perspective helps. May I?”

Steve nodded and stepped away from the door.

John knocked politely, and then he called out in French, perfect French, like the kind Steve had heard from Dernier back in the day.

The response came - in Italian.

John replied in Italian, and Bucky fired back with German, and there was baffling polyglot banter through the door before it opened a crack.

Bucky stared at John. “You really aren’t Hydra?”

“It’s all Dollhouse up in here.” John gestured to his wild hair. “So they took away all the triggers and programs, and now you remember everything you’ve ever been and everything you’ve ever done.”

Bucky nodded cautiously. 

“It’s pretty scary, isn’t it? How many lifetimes they can cram into one head.”

Bucky nodded again.

“Can I come in? To talk. And to listen.”

Bucky hesitated.

“Full disclosure, I have an imprint that’s a psychologist, but we can leave him on the back burner if you like.”

Bucky blinked. “What else do you have in there?”

“Who else,” John corrected gently. “And a bunch.”

“Did you ever kill anyone? Because of how they programmed you?”

John’s gaze went dark. “Yeah, I did.”

“How do you live with yourself?”

John darted a glance at Steve, then said, “Well, it helps that I have people who love me.”

Bucky peered at Steve from beneath his lashes for a moment, then nodded and stepped back. “Okay. Come in. What’s your name?”

“John.”

“Like John Doe?”

“John Sheppard, actually. You go by Bucky, right? Bucky Barnes.”

“Yeah.” Bucky opened the door wider.

“I read about you in school. You’re - taller, than I thought you’d be.”

Bucky huffed. “How tall did you think I’d be?”

“I dunno. Shorter than you are. They always talk about how people in history were short because they were all malnourished.”

“Me? Malnourished? Never. Now, Steve on the other hand -”

Their voices cut off as the door closed.

Steve stared at the closed door and hoped. Prayed. He stood there for a long time. After a while he sat down, back against the door, stretched his legs out. He’d know as soon as the door opened. 

Eventually some of T’challa’s staff brought him some food, which he ate gratefully. He was glad when some of the staff brought food trays to Bucky’s door, and John accepted them. He flashed Steve a brief, reassuring smile and then nudged the door closed with his foot.

Eventually Steve fell asleep. When he woke, someone had covered him with a blanket and propped his head up on a pillow. Steve sat up, scrubbed a hand over his face. His mouth felt dry and his teeth felt fuzzy. He definitely needed to brush his teeth.

The door opened, and Steve twisted around sharply. John and Bucky both looked tired and pale, but they were smiling at each other.

Bucky said something in Russian, and John responded in another language.

Bucky shoved him lightly in the shoulder. “Romanian! Haven’t heard that in forever.”

“Couldn’t make it easy, now could I?” John clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “You’ve got this.”

“Thanks, John,” Bucky said softly.

“Any time.” John looked down at Steve. “My work here is done. And we didn’t even need to rustle up the psychologist. Much. I’ll leave you to it.” And he strode down the hall and around the corner.

Bucky offered Steve a hand, and Steve accepted, let Bucky help him to his feet.

“Hey,” Steve said. “All better?”

“Not by a long shot,” Bucky said, “but I know what I can do to get there.”

“What we can do,” Steve said.

Bucky nodded and leaned in. “We,” he agreed, and he kissed Steve softly.


End file.
